Forbidden Desire Part 2

Forbidden Desire Part 2

A Writer's Note: This is entirely a product of my imagination. Any similarities to real people, events, or scenarios are purely coincidental.

An Illicit Desire: Part Two

Chapter One: Every Week Goes By...

What started as a one-time encounter evolved into something Tahira couldn't manage. The text she meant to send informing him that this needed to end hadn't made it past her device. After their second meeting at the hotel during the daytime, Tahira had practiced a speech out loud to justify leaving him for good. Her priority was to obey the expectations of her husband and her role as a mother, also her religion calling for the termination of this illicit affair. The speech, though brilliant in theory, would have carried more weight if she had actually said it.

Kellan and Tahira had gotten used to meeting at least once a week and sometimes more. Starting with the daytime rendezvous, then whilst Keenan insisted on an overnight stay at the hotel. She couldn't refuse him.

The stress of handling responsibilities like maintaining a harmonious marriage, a neat home, and being a supportive parent began to mount. Aside from Keenan, she had Ibrahim, the husband, and their children to cater to. While not around, she concocted multiple stories to get away from her household chores. One of them was joining a "book club," another was attending the gym regularly. The latter actually made sense as she claimed to struggle with strained muscles, which allowed mismatched bruises.

Fortunately, Ibrahim's frequent business trips allowed for some leeway, but as time progressed, maintaining her sham became challenging. Tahira had to involve her children, dividing household tasks amongst them to ensure the home kept running smoothly.

As days turned into weeks, she got so used to their secret rendezvous she couldn't stop.

Kellan knew what turned her on and mentioned it while in bed together, her body begging for more each day. Each instance of sex intensified, driving her need for more. He controlled her hormones by issuing the birth control pills, taking a step towards ownership of her reproductive health. However, she remained in control of her emotions and appeared calm despite being the older individual in this affair.

A month into this affair, their sex life transformed into acts that crossed the boundary into the realm of the sinful.

<<0>>

Ali, Tahira's husband, was required to attend a party thrown by his brother Jawed. Ali wanted Tahira to join in but an important assignment at work kept him distant. To complicate matters further, an argument with his sister-in-law Uzma created suspicion in Tahira's mind, fearing that Uzma would sabotage her presence.

So, with the children excited about spending time with their cousins, Ali arranged for Jawed to fetch them.

"Are you really not coming? The children will miss you being there,” Jawed remarked. Tahira, aware of Uzma's intentions, pretended defeat, "I wish I could, but there's so much to be done at home! The housework hasn't been completed with kids taking up space" Tahira uttered.

"Pray for me; my kids have more clothes on the floor than they do in their wardrobe," replied Jawed. Instead of addressing Tahira as "sister," he called her "sister" with an added "Ya Allah," reading between the lines, a hollow sentiment but used to balance the family ties while subtly reminding Tahira he witnessed and tolerates Uzma's unkind behavior but was too polite to speak ill of her.

Jawed gathered the children and drove off, the last remnants of her presence known as she waved goodbye. Three minutes passed before losing the view of the car. Confident her children were safe, she picked up her phone, dialing Keenan's number.

His nephew would pick her up, and it was time to make love, the whispered code "RTF," meaning "Ready to fuck." Unsurprisingly, Keenan's reply arrived quickly - "1hr."

Tahira rushed to ready her bag; clean clothes and toiletries went inside her gym bag. The gym excuse became her savior, providing her time away and adding legitimacy to carry one. She sipped coffee to keep herself awake during the wait; her eyes never left the big clock mounted to the kitchen, ticking away the seconds, minutes, and hours towards the appointment with Keenan. She anticipated the lullaby of sleep post-loving, but right now, her eyes were intensely focused on the clock.

Several hours passed, and she found herself in bed with her young black lover. This wasn't their first time making love, and it never failed to amaze her how much they both yearned for each other. Their initial lovemaking sessions were always frantic, a sign of their undying desire for one another. Since she had decided to use birth control as he requested, Tahira could finally experience the pleasure of his semen filling her, as he ejaculated within her.

Despite the blissful, pleasurable moments they shared, Tahira lived in constant fear and anxiety. It wasn't just his size, strength, and captivating charm that made her nervous; it was also the thought of being with this man, knowing her actions went against her religious principles and moral compass. However, she still couldn't resist the irresistible pleasure she experienced with Keenan, so she continued to indulge in their affair.

The thought that Keenan might end things with her weighed heavily on her mind. Tahira was ten years older than him, i.e., thirty-five, while he was only twenty-two. She was a married Muslim woman, and a mother. Considering his age, good looks, and magnetic personality, she knew there must've been countless women wishing they could date him. She felt uneasy knowing that she had betrayed her husband, and she wasn't comfortable with this infidelity. Despite being concerned about her actions, she found herself unable to resist the pleasure she derived from her secret fling with Keenan.

They lay in each other's arms, feeling comfortable in the afterglow of passion. His right hand enveloped her throat, while her covered head rested on his chest, and her veiled hair shrouded both their faces. After a while, he mentioned, "I hate this."

Hearing just those three words was enough to make her tense up.

"What do you mean?" she asked, unsure of what was coming next.

"I hate sneaking around all the time. I know you're married, but fuck that! You're mine, my woman. When's my turn? To take you out, show you off?"

She loved the endearment, yet she didn't know how to make things happen, and she dreaded the possibility of what would happen if she couldn't fulfill his wish.

"Your turn? To take me out and show me off?"

"Yeah, to prove that you're real. My family and friends don't believe me. And they're asking about you, 'where is she?' I told them nothing. But they think I'm lying."

"My family?" she inquired, puzzled by his words.

"Family... friends, you know. Like my best friend, Wilson. He doesn't believe me either."

"You told your friends about us?" Tahira questioned, feeling slightly alarmed by his casual openness.

"Nah, nah, nah... like no names or anything, so don't worry. Just that... I met someone and shit. They want to know who you are, an' shit like that."

"I see."

"I need your help, though. Come to my place, meet at least one of my family, meet Wilson, yes? That'll stop the talks."

She couldn't say no to meeting Keenan's friends and family, despite feeling uncertain about introducing him to her own. She had no choice, as that beautiful, hard ball of muscle inside her pushed its way into her, demanding a response.

"I'll come, I'll come," she agreed.

"Tomorrow," he directed.

Tahira's brain was working overtime, trying to think of an excuse to stay with Keenan. "I need to text... think..." she said, making an excuse to use her phone. As she stretched her arm out to reach for the phone to her right, Keenan eagerly grabbed it, placing it in her hand. She glanced at it and thought about what she could do to make things work. "Kids before everything else," she decided, sending a text to her husband Jawed, requesting permission for her children—Mahad and Aidah—to spend an extra night at her parents' place due to urgent back-to-back appointments in Birmingham. Jawed, a perfect family man, readily agreed, showing his understanding and support for her. "What a good man," she thought to herself.

"I'm sorry, Keenan. I'll do anything for you, you know that right?" She said, caressing the palm of his massive hands that gripped her breasts.

"For real?" he inquired.

"Definitely."

Keenan was excited at the thought of her meeting his family. His erection returned to its former state, pushing back into Tahira.

She couldn't say no to such a proposal.

One message was written to Ali, stating that his wife and children would not be home when he returned the following evening. It was challenging to send a text while being filled by Keenan's length, who was slowly thrusting his hips to cause small movements within Tahira's vagina.

"Alright," Ali responded briefly.

"Done," Tahira said, putting the phone down.

"Good job. As a reward, you can suck my finger," Keenan said, inserting his index finger into Tahira's mouth. Tahira closed her lips around it, simulating a small-sized penis in her mouth, while her vagina accommodated the larger version of it. Despite the lack of significant size difference, Keenan's finger was almost as large as Ali's penis and not much thinner.

After a while, he removed his finger from her mouth, and his other hand moved from her busty chest to her throat. Keenan hugged Tahira possessively, and she enjoyed it immensely.

"Wait... what are you doing?" she asked. She could feel Keenan's finger sliding between their bodies, trying to enter the pink folds of her ass cheeks.

"Knocking on your back door girl," Keenan whispered in her ear.

"Oh, no. No. No... nope, uh-uh," she blurted out. Tahira was struggling to convey to a non-Muslim that 'that' particular option was considered off-limits.

"Say it," her conscience suggested.

"Keenan, no. Don't."

"I want to," he retorted, sounding almost childlike.

"No Keenan. Mine, in my culture, is a forbidden act... a sin. Tell me you understand."

"I understand," he said. Tahira felt a sense of relief, but he plunged his finger into her without any warning. Tahira yelped in pain and quickly said, "Please stop!"

"Why?" he inquired, his tone calm. Despite her suffering, Tahira noticed that it excited him, and her vagina tightened even further.

"I told you; it's forbidden. You said you understood."

"I do understand," he admitted. Tahira became increasingly emotional and cried out of embarrassment.

"Why?" he reiterated calmly. His actions didn't perturb him in the slightest. In fact, Tahira realized that it sexually aroused him, causing his penis to feel even harder in her.

"Why? I told you; it's forbidden. I'm sorry."

"I don't believe in crime. The only thing forbidden here is not using your gorgeous ass. "You know what I mean?" he asked. She had a paradisiacal rear like Kim Kardashian wishes she possessed. However, he didn't disrespect her cultural beliefs by violating them.

"Look, go wash up in the bathroom, wash your face, and feel better," he suggested.

She obeyed his instructions and entered the little hotel bathroom. She understood that splashing water on her face could help restore her calmness. As she stood before the mirror, Tahira felt conflicted but realized that she could have handled the situation better and preserved her cultural values.

When she emerged, Keenan was still in the doorway. Tahira was overpowered by his presence.

"Better?" he inquired, looking somewhat concerned.

"Yes. Thank you," she said.

He engulfed her in a warm embrace, placing his hands on her cheeks, then her neck, and finally her chest. His touch was caressing and calming. Keenan released her and said, "Come here." He held Tahira tightly, pressing his lips against hers, passionately kissing her. His fingers softly touched her hijab, inspecting its design.

Tahira shuddered as he started to undo her hijab. She didn't want to protest against this, so she just stood there. He gently removed the black scarf, unraveling it section by section. The hijab was deliberately modest, but it easily slipped from her head. Now bare-headed, she prepared to apologize to Keenan for her reaction to his initial request. She touched the doorknob, but he reached for it first and opened the door for her.

Confidently, Tahira lifted her palms to her head, but he went ahead of her. The headscarf was in his arm, as his thick fingers moved through her dark, nearly black hair. He turned her, his hands on her shoulders so she faced away from him. The only sound she heard was his quiet whistle as he looked at her hair falling below her waist, the longest strands similar to dark vines covering the cheeks of her ample derrière.

"Damn girl, never thought you'd have this hidden away. You got some surprises, huh?"

Understanding the compliment for what it was, she responded with a shy grin, feeling awkward, naked for the first time in his presence, even though that might sound ridiculous.

He kissed her again, his arms wrapped around her waist, his incredible strength raising her feet from the tiled bathroom floor. Tahira's objections were drowned out by the intertwined tongues in each other's mouths. He carried her to the shower location, where the hotel hadn't skimped on facilities for their customers, an expansive double shower large enough for both of them. Inside the clear walls of the shower, he released her, just to securely close the door.

"Turn it on, baby, I want to get clean with you after we've been dirty earlier, you know?"

"Sure," she replied, activating the shower. The eighteen-inch-wide shower head above them came to life, a splatter of cold water initially struck them, although short-lived as the torrent of warm water followed behind it. Tahira pushed a button on the wall beside her, filled her palm with shower gel. Reaching over, she soaped Keenan's chest and shoulders. He stood still, happy to be washed by her delicate, gentle hands. As she soaped him, caressing every protruding muscle, cleaning each and every part of his hard, dark skin, she thought again about how cursed and blessed she had been to bump into him in the store a month earlier. Curse because he had turned her life and her principles upside down, blessed because she'd never felt more like a woman in his presence. Only the joy of her children and their birth could surpass how good it felt to be with him. Keenan turned around, and she soaped his back, his solid backside as well, but only temporarily.

"My turn," he said, pumping gel into his giant scoop-sized hand.

Tahira noticed his hardness. She had washed his cock clean and it had enlarged under her touch. Now, though, it looked remarkably engorged, just from the thought of washing her. A warm sensation filled her, and she briefly forgot that she had broken yet another one of her principles, allowing him to take off her head covering.

He paid close attention to her shoulders. He massaged them thoroughly before moving down the rest of her front. He even squatted down to soap her feet, rubbing them softly, one at a time. Tahira was finished with her front; he turned her around. Her shoulders were his starting point. He massaged them deeply while washing her. Strong fingers dug into her flesh, discovering and pulverizing the knots of tension that always accompanied her. As his hands moved lower, she shut her eyes, inhaling through her nose as she searched for inner peace. His hands glided over her buttocks, cleaning them, his hand diverted slightly to the valley between them, but not much. Tahira relaxed, her eyes remaining closed as she luxuriated in this attention to her body.

She felt his finger. A brief touch as it skimmed between her, still soapy, inner thighs. Then it returned, his finger stroking her labia. It slipped inside her, touching her inner walls.

"Ohhh, oh Keenan," she moaned.

The lone venturer was accompanied by a companion. A second finger pressed past the puffy lips barring, ineffectively, her pussy. Tahira was wet from the shower spray. Inside her pussy, she was soaked.

"You, my love?" His deep, powerful voice was clearly audible despite the shower noise.

"Yes... oh, yes I am," Tahira moaned as he finger-fucked her.

"That's right. You are. The rest of the time, you're the sad widow Ali's wife, but when you're with me, you're mine." not a question, a statement.

"Uhhh, uh, uh-huh, yes, yes," Tahira groaned.

"This is mine." his fingers moved within her, correctly stimulating each sensitive spot.

"Uh...oh, oh, OH...oh, yes."

"These are mine." his other hand wandered to her breasts, his fingers pinching her nipples, hard like bullets, yearning to be suckled and rubbed.

"You, mine. All fucking mine," his fingers squeezed her neck, her throat gripped firmly. She pushed on his fingers inside her, craving release.

Tell me. His voice held no anger, but the pressure on her throat was slightly increasing.

"I belong to you. All of you," Tahira moaned, feeling more emotion in this statement than she had on her wedding day to Ali.

"My woman, mine... don't ever forget that, understand?"

"Uh... yes, yes." Tahira could definitely "feel him," his fingers inside her, his partially-choking grip on her throat, the black dick pressing into the small of her back. She couldn't help but "feel him."

He released her neck, his hand caressing her shoulders again. Tahira couldn't deny it to herself anymore. She was falling in love with this guy. It was wrong, dumb, proving she was even more immature than him, in fact. He at least had the excuse of being twenty-two. At thirty-five and a mother of two, she should know better. But hearts don't listen to logic.

She was so lost in fairy tale fantasies of a relationship that couldn't happen that Tahira nearly missed the fact that Keenan's hand returned to her ass, once more spreading her cheeks, rubbing a finger on the entrance to her anal passage.

"Please... please no," she said loudly, trying to be heard over the falling water of the shower.

"Spread your ass cheeks," he said, completely ignoring her.

"Keenan..." Tahira whined in protest.

"I said, spread 'em. You said it. You're mine, and I want what's mine. You lying to me?"

"No, I am yours, but please. It's forbidden, disgusting. I'm not allowed!"

"I am," he retorted, "spread 'em."

More than the struggle she had on the first day after meeting him, this conflict between wanting to please him and her allegiance to her faith tore her apart. Only the timidity and submissiveness sexually tipped the scales. In obedience to her man, Tahira reluctantly pulled her large ass cheeks apart.

She hadn't seen him do it, hadn't even been aware he knew she had one, but Keenan had stolen the tub of coconut oil she used as a moisturizer. He coated his dick with it, smearing more on her tight, puckered entrance as well.

Even with that, it hurt. A lot.

His cock pushed against her brown door, determined to find a way inside. The young black guy wasn't taking no for an answer. Not from Tahira and not from her ass. A low sobbing moan announced that the head of his cock had pushed inside, forcing open her back entrance. Tahira had once thought that Keenan wasn't a bad guy, just sexually aggressive. She'd been right. He paused, giving her time to adjust to it. The pain slowly faded to discomfort. Keenan helped, teasing her pussy again, allowing pleasure to minimize the pain her body was enduring. For her mind, there was no such aid.

For about thirty minutes, the bathroom filled with steam as the shower never stopped, Keenan turned Tahira's ass into what it once was.

'Clap'

Her generous ass rippled as Keenan took a cautious lunge into her.

'Clap-clap'

Tahira's curves pressed against the smooth tiles of the shower wall as Keenan began thrusting in and out of her ass faster now.

'Clap-clap-clap-clap'

Her ass shook as he fucked her. Not deep, she wasn't yet able to accommodate his full length. Shallow and fast. It was wrong, so terribly wrong. Tears of pain and shame appeared on her face, only for the shower spray to wash them away a heartbeat later.

She felt Keenan's touch on her back as he fucked her, his fingers gathering her long, thick mane of hair and holding it firmly, creating a dark leash that ran from her head, filled with humiliating shame, to his black hand.

His cock pounded her ass relentlessly, her body trembling with each thrust.

"I fuckin' love this thick ass girl," Keenan yelled in the confines of the shower.

'Clap-clap-clap'

"My slim thick sexy Muslim, my sexy Pakistani girl," he shouted, his strokes quickening more if that was possible.

'Clap-clap-clappity-clap-clap'

"Fuckin' love this body. Hear that? I love you, girl," Keenan yelled loudly.

Tahira climaxed on his dick, his words igniting her orgasm. Keenan didn't know, didn't care, his own climax a close second, his cum flooding her ass, a virgin territory no longer.

Chapter Two: Weak with, Weak without...

It was a minor task, calling someone's apartment and meeting their friend. If this were a typical relationship, it would be a natural progression in it, a sign of deepening intimacy. But this was not a regular relationship. Far from it. Tahira was having an affair, and Keenan, her lover who belonged to a different religion, race, and background, asked her to confirm their situation by meeting his friend.

Tahira knew nothing about this 'Wilson.' Since the beginning of their affair, Tahira had been extremely discreet. But she could not resist Keenan's requests. If it was significant to him, it became significant to her.

Where Tahira used to meet just once with a man, for Keenan, she had met him multiple times in the past month. To accommodate his demands for more frequent meet-ups, Tahira had to manufacture more and more alibis, each one carrying the potential to blow up in her face.

Tahira had tried to maintain her beliefs as much as possible. But to meet Keenan's needs, she had to compromise her principles and surrender her anal virginity to him, something that had never crossed her mind before. However, now she found herself in a new predicament: she was being asked to put her trust in a stranger. Had Keenan shared her situation with Wilson? Could she trust him to keep her confidence and not spread juicy gossip?

The drive to the outskirts of the capital, where Keenan lived, took less than an hour. The parking was smooth, but her fingers gripped the steering wheel so tightly that she had to unclench them after parking the car. As she shackled her bag and the Tupperware she had taken, she resorted to stretching her back to cope with the tensed muscles.

When she reached Keenan's door, her anxiety led her to fumble with the key for a moment before gaining entry. It was a small yet functional elevator that carried her up to the fourth floor. There, she rang Keenan's doorbell, biting her lip nervously as she waited. Her tensed muscles were evident in the stiff posture she maintained while standing. After a while, Keenan opened the door, beaming at her, only to quickly look embarrassed by his behavior.

"You're here! No trouble finding the place?" Keenan asked with a big smile on his face.

"No problems. Uh, can I come in?" Tahira nervously inquired.

"Shit, certainly, pardon my delay. Come on in," Keenan apologetically responded as he beckoned her inside.

Tahira waited for him to enter first, following him into the living room. It was a small to mid-sized apartment with a large TV, sound system, and multiple gaming systems, all of which gave it a masculine vibe. As expected of a 22-year-old man, it was a classic man-cave setup.

However, the walls were adorned with many framed art prints by renowned artists like Matisse, Picasso, and Cezanne. It was unexpected and pleasing to discover this layer to Keenan.

In the middle of it all sat Wilson.

As Tahira approached, Wilson stood up and welcomed her with a genuine smile. It was a brief moment of hesitation, as she had judged Wilson by his appearance. He was not as tall as Keenan but still a few inches taller than her. She was somewhat relieved to see that he was well-dressed and clean-shaven. But the scar and the tattoos—it was these that had made her judge him so quickly.

You could see the tattoos on both his arms, from his wrists to where his dark skin stopped beneath the sleeve of his t-shirt, were filled with random images and words. His throat had a dagger tattoo, starting just under his chin and vanishing somewhere below the neckline of his top. Not even his face was left untouched by the artist's needle. A small crucifix was centered on his forehead, with the arms parallel to his eyebrows and the length trailing down until it stopped above his nose. His right cheek had three teardrops descending; his left cheek remained untouched except for a scar on his face. Starting from above his left ear and cutting across his cheek to the corner of his mouth, the deep scars seemed like they had been caused by a severe knife wound. This caused the corner of his mouth to stay upturned into a kind of permanent sneer.

"Tahira," she gasped.

"The mysterious lady, great to meet you," Wilson's deep voice didn't bring any comfort to the churning butterflies in her stomach. In an attempt to regain some dignity, and also to give her an excuse to look away from Wilson, she handed the Tupperware container to Keenan. "Here... a piece of my country's heritage. This is something I made just for you. I couldn't show up empty-handed." Keenan peeled back the lid, eyeing the unfamiliar food inside with curiosity.

"It's called Gajreela," Tahira explained hurriedly. "It's similar to carrot pudding... it's sweet... I assure you, it's better than it sounds."

"Thanks for doing that," Keenan replied. He set the Tupperware container aside, and after a brief silence, they all stood there in an awkward silence.

Surprisingly, it was Wilson who broke it, although not in a very pleasant way. "Fuck," he muttered, "much better out than in, right?" Wilson walked out of the room, heading for the kitchen.

Keenan then turned to Tahira, "So, what's your take on Wilson there, eh? A real legend. Known him all my life."

"Yes… umm... he seems nice. I presume." Keenan didn't seem to notice her frustrations in trying to find a positive attribute about Wilson.

"Yep, he is. I know you'll like him, and I can tell he feels the same about you." Keenan grinned.

"Well, that's good. I know... I know this is essential for you and you're important to me. So, it's a good thing that he likes me too," Tahira replied, trying her best to sound optimistic.

Keenan smiled and hugged her, kissing her passionately. For a moment, Tahira completely forgot about Wilson's presence in the next room as Keenan's hands grazed over her body, his lips capturing hers.

Keenan finally broke the kiss, "I want you."

"I want you too," Tahira murmured, absent-mindedly reaching between his legs, caressing him through his pants. Keenan, however, quickly stopped her.

"No, no, not that. I wanted you to experience what it's like to belong to Wilson tonight." Tahira's face began to show surprise, disbelief, and then dread.

"I can't. You can't be serious... it's... no," Tahira whispered, still staring at him in bewilderment.

"Firstly, you always return to your husband. You want nothing more than to leave him, but you continue to go back. Therefore, I need to check whether I'm wasting my time with you or if you're truly seeking a change," Keenan reasoned, enjoying her visible pain.

Number two. You're mine, you claimed. I grew up with next to nothing due to having practically nothing. So, I matured into sharing with my loved ones and Wilson, who is closer to me than a blood brother. Therefore, if you're mine, then I wish for Wilson to acquire a piece of you.

"No, no, no," Tahira voiced no sound, silently repeating the same word time and time again. The trailing end of her hijab swished back and forth across her shoulder as she turned her head from side to side, physically portraying her disagreement with his suggestion. After he had let the inactivity last for a while, he spoke again.

"You don't need to. I'll let your arms go now. You can simply leave. Go back to your two children and your spouse. Forget this ever occurred and exclude my number... or you can follow my instructions and indulge yourself. Your choice." At that, Keenan freed her and moved away.

Tahira couldn't fathom what he was ordering of her. She desired to stake a claim against him. She'd jeopardized so much, deeply struggling over her infidelity, betraying her marriage, prioritizing his desires before her children's necessities. Even more, she had defied her religious tenets, an action more difficult for her than the fornication. She'd done all that just for him to feign she'd been playing along this entire time, never truly committing. How dare he!

There was no doubt about it. She wouldn't. She didn't even feel attracted to Wilson.

That was her initial, impulsive response.

However, her logical side subsequently chimed in. That argument was straightforward. If she'd done all that, sacrificed so much. Was she truly going to merely abandon everything now?

She didn't comprehend how long she remained standing in front of Keenan. Much longer than she realized as he had to prompt her again for a response.

"Staying or leaving?"

"Staying," Tahira uttered softly.

<<0>>

Keenan merely nodded tersely, leaving the room and departing Tahira with Wilson.

It was quite apparent that this had been meticulously planned out. After all, Wilson had been in the kitchen for a while now and unless he was brewing the beer, it could only imply he was waiting on Keenan to have the 'conversation' with Tahira. Recognizing this, she smoothed down the front of her abaya, rubbing at the corners of her eyes for the treacherous tears that were on the brink of spilling out. She blinked rapidly, sending away the last of them, her honey-colored eyes glistening with distress. Feeling lost and undecided, she set down on the couch, perching near the edge of it in a stiff-backed posture of discomfort.

Wilson emerged from the kitchen a few minutes later. He had a can of beer in one hand, an open bag of tortilla chips in the other. He grinned at her, his smile adorned with crumbs from his snacking. As he entered the room, he biased towards snatching the Tupperware container she'd brought in his other hand. Then, disregarding her clearly upset expression, he planted himself on the couch beside her. Without entering conversation with Tahira, Wilson switched on the tv remote that was beside him, the large screen flashing to life. He browsed through a few channels, eventually settling on Formula 1 race highlights.

Tahira didn't know what was occurring but silence was only intensifying her feelings of discomfort, so she felt compelled to break it.

"Did Keenan talk to you?" She monitored Wilson's face as she awaited his answer.

"Yep," he responded bluntly; mouth stuffed with tortilla chips. His manners were, well nonexistent, but Tahira was pleased at least that he felt her dish was tasty, or "good crap" using his own words.

"Want some?" Wilson inquired while articulating clearly, food swallowed. He gestured at the gajreela as he questioned.

"Yes, thank you," Tahira lied. She didn't wish to eat; her stomach felt queasy from the tension in her body. She only agreed to try and establish a connection with the black man. A blitz of enthusiastic commentary from the television, as a car stumbled off the racetrack, drew her attention away from Wilson while she waited on him to give her a tortilla chip to ladle a scoop of the dessert onto.

When Tahira turned back towards the television, she discovered Wilson proffering her something different than a tortilla chip.

He withdrew his erect member in the brief moments when she was distracted and applied a slice of gajreela to its length. As she eyed the soft orange-colored paste on his penis, the preposterous thought occurred to her about what her grandmother would say if she witnessed her own recipe being served in this manner. Wilson wasn't even gazing at her, he was concentrating on the television.

Tahira couldn't help but think it looked enticing. The dessert, of course, not the massive black penis it was adorning. Mouthwatering, delectable, enticing... even inviting. Despite her uneasy stomach, a little taste couldn't hurt, right?

She leaned over his lap, adjusting her hijab which had slipped off her shoulder in the process. Mouth agape, Tahira licked the gajreela away from his erection. By the time she'd cleaned it, his penis was fully engorged, and her mouth was filled with Wilson's dick.

The flavor of the sweet dessert she had cooked overpowered her taste buds, yet the musky taste of his flesh somehow cut through it, allowing her to savor his flavor on her tongue as she cleaned each inch of his gajreela-coated shaft. Tahira was totally into it now. She no longer offered lame excuses to herself that she was doing this to please Keenan. The fact that her mouth was dripping with saliva as she sucked on him, and her vagina was just as moist, was the unmistakable proof of her feelings.

As she continued to suck on it, she heard the occasional crunch coming from above. Wilson continued enjoying his meal, one hand shoving tortilla chips into his mouth while the other rested on Tahira's ample rear. She had moved to a more comfortable position on the couch with her side facing him. When his fingers found her backside under her abaya, Wilson hastily raised the fabric, exposing her legs from the thighs up. The shame she felt at her bare backside paled in comparison to the burning embarrassment she felt when his eyes were on her skin.

His searching fingers explored beneath her modest abaya, their movements accompanied by the dripping wetness between her legs. Without request or pause, a thick finger plunged into her vagina, triggering an involuntary reaction within her. Shivering, her pussy clenched around his finger, its depths gaping.

"Keenan wasn't lying, you're a horny little slut, aren't you?"

"Oohhh!" was all she managed to yelp as he violated her with a single finger, her lips still wrapped around his cock.

He withdrew his finger and lightly smacked her ass, which left her cheeks bright red.

"Get up and take off the damned tent," Wilson barked.

Assuming he was referring to her dress, she did as instructed. She unfastened her dress, drawing it down to her waist before it fell off her body. This left her in a white bra and panties, black practical shoes, and her dark hijab.

"Nice. Turn around slowly... show me everything," he said with heavy focus on her body, ignoring the television. Tahira executed a full spin as he directed her, her arms involuntarily trying to protect her limbs. The fierce glare he stared at her with reminded her of a wolf. The scarred face with tattoos made him appear fierce, but it was his gaze that promised real danger.

"Got some cushion for the pushing, eh?" He joked as he conducted a visual examination of her body.

"Take the rest of it off, you won't need it," he told her, standing and discarding his remaining clothing. Tahira released his penis and removed her bra, one more step towards complete nakedness. Then she stepped out of her shoes and underwear. Wilson returned to the couch, lounging with his huge erect member precariously swaying.

At first glance, the ink on his skin wasn't much different from what Tahira had already seen - words and images all over his chest, arms, and legs. They were mostly in dark ink, while some of them were shinier with hints of green and red. But her eyes kept wandering to the stiff cock lying there, captivated and unmovable.

Tahira knew exactly what her body craved and so did Wilson. She bent down, her head lowered slightly in embarrassment from the mixture of guilt and desire that was rising inside her. She made her way back to the couch to mount Wilson. His wide, menacing eyes watched as she approached, her figure swaying seductively as she moved towards him. She sat astride him and, using the back of the couch for support with one hand and holding on to herself with the other, she carefully positioned his hard cock over her shaved pussy. Then, with a low groan, she lowered herself onto him.

"Jesus, that's a tight pussy on a married woman," Wilson exclaimed as he felt her warm, snug pussy closing around his cock. It took her a minute of effort, her lips caught between her teeth, to go more than halfway down his cock. But gravity, her desire, and her own weight were stronger than his cock's length, allowing her to take a big part of him inside her. Still, she didn't dare look at his face, a mix of conflicting emotions playing out on it - desire, dominance, and most importantly, the fear of what she was now doing.

'I am doing this for Keenan,' a voice inside her head reasoned.

'No, you're doing this for yourself,' a logical voice, yet still honest, corrected.

Tahira wanted it to be over as soon as possible; she wanted to end this forbidden encounter with Keenan's brother. Her past, her marriage, her children, and her faith were already messed up, and this was about to add another screwed-up chapter to it.

Her hips rose and fell faster, her breathing quickening as she fucked him. Her eyes moved from side to side, unable to meet his gaze fully. The natural suction of her pussy slipped off his cock, but she continued, pressing herself down further and creating an even tighter grip. Her cheeks were flushed, and her breathing was becoming labored, set on maintaining the pace she had started. Beads of sweat started to form on her forehead as her pussy began to clench around his intruding cock.

"Uh... uh... uh," she muttered, unable to contain her pleasure as he met her movement for every thrust, deepening their connection.

There was no input from Wilson as he savored his own self-pleasure, leaving her to decide the speed and intensity. She played with the possibility of complete surrender, feeling like she was living out a racist's fantasy, a sexual slave at his every whim. That idea excited her, and her speed increased. Her eyes closed, adrenaline rushing through her body, the fantasy playing out in her mind, increasing her arousal with each thrust.

She moaned as she came, rising up off of his cock for a split-second before letting herself fall back down. "I'm cumming," she cried out, her body shuddering.

"Don't stop, keep going," he growled.

Tahira didn't. She lifted her hips to go down again, this time riding him harder, her hips jerking with each thrust. Her gaze wandered to his face, not wanting to look away. She was drawn into his eyes, her breath hitched as she saw him staring back at her, so confident and deliberate in his actions. The image stayed with her, infecting her mind with orgasmic bliss.

The edges of her fingertips dug into her lover's skin, mimicking the solidity of steel. Tahira's airways tightened as he strangled her.

"Please, let me cum," she begged in between wheezes, her voice twisting and turning around his tight grasp.

"That's right, cum on my cock you slut," hehis response was casual, almost off-handed. Tahira understood without being explicitly told that she wasn't to close her eyes or look away. Through her weak, shaken body, she experienced the release of her orgasm, the pulsating of her partner's erection, and the warmth of his ejaculation showering her insides in the darkness. There was next to no emotion in his dark eyes, save for anticipation, as her brown eyes seemed to be stuck to his.

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Before long, they moved to the bedroom. This time, he was on top of her.

Tahira sprawled out in the center of the bed, Wilson's position at her rear and hands on her hips. He fucked her fiercely.

Compared to Keenan, Wilson wasn't the picture of beauty. There was a strength about him, though; an energy that was intoxicating in its own way. With Keenan, Tahira felt wanted and loved on some level, dreamt of such. She couldn't help but feel she was just flesh for Wilson to enjoy, use, and fuck.

For both of them, in this moment, it was more than enough.

The springs under Keenan's huge bed groaned as Wilson dramatically fucked with hellish fervor. His off-putting appearance only solidified their engagement; he was a man she'd most likely pass on the street. Wilson, however, delivered dangerous indulgence.

Tahira's flesh was flushed and perspiring, her body beaded with sweat. Despite the temperature, the room felt like an oven due to the radiant heat his and her combined effort generated. With each thrust, Wilson's cock was covered first in semen, then in juicy vaginal nectar. Her head hung loosely, alternating between going forward and backward as he fucked mercilessly. The scarf covering her head clung to her face, practically soaked from the sweat. Her chest's pendulous breasts bobbed in unison with her head, still smothered in her copious sweat.

When she strayed, it was driven by an emotionless sense of excess. With Keenan, there was desire and mutual passion. With this man, it was nothing more than a simple need to be fucked with intensity.

The rough hand imprinted in her hair, gripping the scarf positioned strategically over it.

"Are you liking this?" Tahira's actions, stretched out in raspy moans, were the only response.

"Speak up, slut," he growled, shaking her head.

"Are you a slut?"

"Yes, I moan."

"Are you enjoying cheating on your husband?"

"No," she moaned.

Self-loathing thoughts mocked her, 'Yes, you are,' they proclaimed.

"Yes... oh, yes," Tahira uttered, hatin' the realization.

Wilson's body bore down on her as he unleashed a torrent of deep, fast thrusts. Her body trembled in pleasure and pain as his seed and hers commingled inside her chest. He resumed after a few feverish deep strokes, pumping faster and harder, making her hyperventilateto the point of shuddering. Tahira's skin was sticky with perspiration, every pore spewing the fluid. Breathing heavily, she lifted her gaze to the quivering breasts pressed against her chest. Their nipples were erect and torched on. When she veered from her path in the past, it was from monotony and loneliness. In Keenan's arms, she felt desire and mutual affection. With Wilson, it was nothing more than an animalistic urge to be fucked hard.

The back of Tahira's head was taken hold of by firm fingers digging into her hair. She sensed her lover's amusement.

"Are you living this?" Tahira's response was made up of the same raspy groans that echoed through their sex-filled night.

"Wanna have me fuck you again, soon?"

"Yes, groaned Tahira, shaken by the juicy thought.

Far removed from disbelief—herand her body rewarded her with a long series of deep, fast, ecstatic thrusts, and Tahira answered with another uncontrollable orgasm.

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In the afterglow, Tahira lay on the bed. Still embedded in her was Wilson's massive penis. Her own womanly body and his seed were intertwined.

The blinding light and brash voice of reality woke Tahira some time later.

Head blocking the sunlight while her mind tried to understand what waking up meant, Tahira, eyes blinking, squinted towards the end of the bed.

"Get up," barked the voice.

A synaptic connection clicked in her head. Waking was optional, but the intruder daring to command her was not. Tahira focused on whoever stood at the end of the bed, hands still irritatedly shielding her eyes.

"It's Keenan," Tahira's voice was weary.

In his hands were two paper bags, their contents: coffee and fast food. The smells of espresso and McDonald's bootseneared her brain.

"Good morning," Tahira croaked.

The expression on his visage was new to her eyes. After a trio of drawn-out blinks, she managed to put a label to the possibly hidden emotion she sensed lurking in his fine-looking mien.

Could it be... envy?

Read also:

• Neighborly Troublemaker Chapter 5
• The Boundless Reach of Amour
• Chapter 10: A Rooster's Grip
• Sharing and Enjoying Together

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